Moving on

There is a courtesy to twelve year old boys,

a carefulness in their childishness,

a hint of farewell.

He brings me his finger for a bandage, a kiss, a special treat.

It doesn't hurt much, his eyes say,

But this is how we have always done it, so let’s!

Sitting on my lap to cuddle, we both know

my need is greater--he won't fit soon.

His roving pack of old friends,

root round the house like puppies,

stopping by for the particular

blanket, or milkshake, or satin cape or pillow nest

that they have always had--

because next year may be......different.

Next year they may be young wolves.

Nighttime ritual--the story, the snuggle, earnestly requested,

with the care of one

looking over his old home for the last time.

Stuffed animals need particular respect and love.

Soon they will be sitting on a shelf

with the rest of his childhood....

I will greet them.

JMC